As Tom drove us back to my house, I realised that the policewoman had tricked Stella into coming out pretending I’d been taken ill and needed to go home. I kept up the act of not being well until we got home.

“How do you feel now, Cathy?” asked Stella as we arrived at my house.

“Much better now, thanks; how are you?”

“I don’t know, I think I feel sad and down, but I don’t know why.”

“What’s happened recently that might have caused it?” I asked, although playing therapist wasn’t something I usually did.

“I don’t know, unless I’ve forgotten something.”

“You don’t remember Sue and Dave coming over the other night?”

“Yeah, they did, didn’t they. Who are they, anyway?”

“Sue and Dave Lane, they’re the parents of my film making colleague.”

“Who’s that then?”

“Des, Des Lane.”

“I was in school with a Des Lane.”

“It’s the same one.”

“You don’t say. Remember me to him the next time you see him, won’t you?”

“That might be difficult, Stella, he died a few days ago.”

“Oh, how awful.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“He had asked you to marry him.”

“Don’t be daft, not the Des Lane I knew, a dedicated bachelor he was, besides, I think I might remember someone asking me to marry them, it doesn’t happen too often.”

“Stella, would I lie to you?”

She looked at me as if she wasn’t sure what the answer should be, “This is a wind up, no?” I shook my head in the negative, she looked at Tom, who did the same. “You’re kidding me?” We both shook our heads. “You’re not are you?”

“No we’re not, Stella.” Tom looked very serious. “Des did ask you to marry him, he died in a car smash a few days ago.”

“I don’t believe you,” she looked at us but in her eyes there was a doubtfulness that wasn’t in her speech. “Des is dead?”

“Yes, Sis, he died in the crash. You know the young police woman who came and got you from the shop a little while ago?” Stella nodded to my question. “She was one of two officers who came to tell you of Des’ death. Do you remember her now?”

“Not really, she looked very young, but they all do these days. So Des is dead?”

“I’m afraid so,” I felt really sad.

“How long were we engaged?”

“About a week.”

“That all?”

“It had just begun, Stella. I’m so sorry.”

“Just as well then. You never could rely on Des for anything. You watch, he’ll be late for his own funeral.” She got out of the car and walked to the front door.

“There has got to be a reaction, sometime,” said Tom, “She’s just blanked it all.”

“Looks like it,” I said as I exited the car. “I’m out of my depth here.” I walked up to the front door and let us all in. “Who’s for a nice cuppa and a piece of cake?”

“Did you make it?” asked Stella, her eyes brightening at the prospect.

“I tell you what, I’ll cut you a piece and you tell me if I cooked it.”

“Oh that is like, soooo unfair, isn’t it Tom?”

“I’d prefer a Cathy cake, but will settle for a nice one who ever made it.”

I made a pot of tea and then took the cake out of the fridge, it was a real cream and jam Victoria sponge. I’d heard Miss Pendleton made a mean sponge, so I decided to challenge her. Well, I had no chance on a bike.

I cut us each a slice and served it up on tea plates with pastry forks and napkins–it was ever so posh–we even had cups and saucers, and the milk was in a small matching jug with a little doily with weights attached to it. This was draped over the jug to keep flies out. I remember my mother making it in crochet. I wanted her to show me how to do it, but she wouldn’t as my dad wouldn’t have liked it.

I poured the tea and passed the cups and the cake around. They ate a little bit and Tom smiled, then he had another bit and closed his eyes as if in a state of bliss. Stella looked at him and then at me, she sniggered and nodded at him as if to say, ‘Look at him.’

She ate half her cake and I said, “Okay, who baked it? Tesco or me?”

“I think I may need another slice to make entirely sure,” said Tom with a huge smile on his face.

“You did,” said Stella.

“How do you know?” I challenged.

“I found one of your hairs in it, at least, I hope it was one of your hairs, I wouldn’t like to eat someone else’.”

“Ugh, you didn’t did you?”

“Course not, but it had you worried, didn’t it?” She seemed back in her natural buoyant state, so what about the engagement and the death? I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Had she completely forgotten it? “What d’ya think, Tom?”

“Habeus cakus,” he said grinning, “a definite Cathy-cake.”

“You’re both wrong, it’s from Tesco.” I was lying but I wanted to tease them and see what they said.

“Rubbish,” Tom declared, “If Tesco made them like that, they’d be sold out in ten minutes. I can tell a homemade cake from a shop one every time.”

“I agree,” said Stella, “bubbles are too big.”

“You mean the air holes?”

“Yeah, them as well. You two, are a pair of air holes! Nah, it doesn’t have quite the same amount of zip in it as the original.”

“Original?” I puzzled, “What do think this is, a ready to bake cake kit?”

“No, I was on about the expression the ‘Mericans can’t pronounce or say properly.” Stella beamed.

“What’s that?” I asked completely bemused.

“That applies to half the English language. The greatest gift we ever gave the world, and half of them can’t pronounce duke properly–I’m afraid, dook just won’t do. In Scotland, that’s a female drake.” Tom was now on his high horse.

“God knows what Tom is on about, I was meaning asshole.” Stella blushed as she spoke.

“What about a partial donkey, as opposed to a complete one?” Tom was teasing.

“Eh?” Stella gawped at him.

“You said a whole ass, what about a partial one?”

“What about it?”

“Methinks, the professor doth protest too much!” I said and left the kitchen.